What Destiny Brings
by Rumaan
Summary: Before accepting the role as Hand of the King, Ned hears from Lyanna and the destiny of House Stark changes.
1. Lyanna

**Author's Note: Okay, those of you who follow me on tumblr may well already know of this fic by it's tumblr name, Jon-as-a-Wildling crack fic. It was meant to be something short and entertaining, but somewhere between me thinking about it and actually writing Chapter One, it became something much larger that requires considerable thought and writing energy.**

**Writing is at an early stage, so tags will be updated when necessary. I don't foresee it becoming M-rated unless strong swearing surfaces.**

**Many thanks to DNKC who has beta'd this chapter, and also to River in Egypt, who is not part of this fandom, but wiki'd ASOIAF so I could write her very long emails about this fic.**

* * *

**Lyanna**

The riders came from Starfall, and Lyanna watched from the crack in her door as the three Kingsguards paled at the news the riders murmured quietly to them. The strong Lord Commander, Ser Gerold Hightower, needing to brace himself against the stone wall to keep himself upright. Ser Oswell Whent slumped into the nearest chair and only Ser Arthur Dayne managed to maintain his posture, but his face was white and his eyes strained. It was this that brought her down the stairs and into the main room of this small tower.

"What is it?" she asked, refusing to be kept in the dark over this.

"Nothing, my Lady," Ser Gerold said quickly, throwing a warning glance at his two men.

"It's hardly nothing if riders have sought you out."

The lack of communication with the outside world had pleased Lyanna at first. So keen had she been to escape from the reality of the future mapped out by her lord father that the Tower of Joy, as Rhaegar had dubbed it, had been an oasis of much needed peace and solitude.

But then Ser Arthur had been joined by Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell and the whispers had started. Lyanna had awoken more than once to find Rhaegar no longer next to her and quiet murmurs coming from down the spiral stairs.

At first, she had been content to roll back over and sleep, sure that if it was something important Rhaegar would tell her, but whilst the Prince continued to behave as normal, the worried, searching looks she would catch Ser Arthur throwing her started to make her anxious, and she had sought reassurance from Rhaegar. Her family had received a raven, yes? Her father knew she was well? Rhaegar had nodded abstractly at her and smiled, but it had no longer quelled the disquiet that sat in the pit of her stomach.

Then Rhaegar had left, and they had heard nothing for moons now.

He had ridden out, throwing her a casual kiss as he had disappeared from this wilderness back into civilisation. And then nothing. Indeterminable days passed, the only noticeable difference being the change of her body as she missed her moonblood and her stomach swelled slightly.

Lyanna already knew they were keeping things from her. She heard their whispers when they thought she slept and had pressed her ear to the door, desperate to hear something, but what was happening outside of her tower remained a mystery.

Before he left, Rhaegar had murmured something about his father and needing to be back in Kings Landing. He had made it sound so normal that she had presumed he would be smoothing the way for her to leave this place and go with him. But if that was the case why were the Kingsguard left here with her so tense?

"She needs to know," Ser Arthur said.

"Our orders were to say nothing," Ser Gerold countered.

"Orders?" Lyanna asked, interjecting. "What orders?"

Throwing a warning glance at his knights, Ser Gerold strode over to her, taking her hand in his in a fatherly gesture. "Prince Rhaegar did not want you to worry, my Lady."

_Was it her fate in life to be treated like a fragile flower by men_? she thought, frustrated.

"I know _something_ is happening," Lyanna said acerbically. "So I'm hardly going to be serene and calm if you don't tell me."

"Lady Lyanna, I am really sorry but I am not able to go against the Prince's wishes."

Barely suppressing the desire to stamp her foot and scream that she demanded to know, Lyanna settled for issuing a threat. "Prince Rhaegar will hear about this when he returns, and I will be sure to express just how displeased I am."

It was the kind of threat that would have made Brandon laugh and ruffle her hair, but the effect on the three knights of the Kingsguard was unexpected. Ser Gerold looked gravely back at her, an expression in his eye she could not read. Ser Oswell looked down at his feet and cleared his throat, but it was Ser Arthur Dayne who set her heart pounding in panic. He, the best of Rhaegar's friends, had been with them since the very beginning. Had been there when she had stolen out of Winterfell to meet Rhaegar in the Wolfswood. How long ago that now seemed. Tears shone in Ser Arthur's eyes and Lyanna suddenly knew with absolute certainty that Rhaegar would not be returning.

"He's not coming back, is he?" she whispered.

"My Lady-" Ser Gerold started to say.

"Don't 'my Lady' me, Lord Commander," Lyanna snapped. "He's not coming back and there's only one reason he would not return – death."

A tear slid down Ser Arthur's face then, confirming her fears, and the sadness that flooded through her took her by surprise. She was fond of Rhaegar but she had primarily run with him to avoid the fate of being married to Robert Baratheon. She had not been enamoured with her father's match, and no matter how Ned had tried to put a positive spin on his friend's character, she had realised the truth the few times she had met him, and knew that she could not be happy as his wife.

Rhaegar's offer to run had come at the right time, giving her a way out, and she had grabbed at it. Of course, it had helped that the Crown Prince was handsome and cultured. He had listened to her worries and fears and had kept her identity as the Laughing Knight a secret.

But now he was dead.

Lyanna's temper snapped. "His orders mean nothing now if he's dead! So keeping me in the dark is pointless. When exactly were you going to tell me? In five moons time when I give birth to the baby? A year from now? Five years from now? You were going to have to tell me at some point."

Silence greeted her words, the only noise the harsh panting of her breath. She let the pause extend for a while before speaking once more. "All three of you should be making plans to return to King's Landing to serve King Aerys, considering there is no royalty left here."

She saw Ser Oswell's eyes drop to her stomach and she mentally thanked him for the reminder of the power she had left.

"If you mean to remain here to protect an unborn babe then I demand you start to give me answers, and then we pack. I can still make it back to Winterfell before the babe is born."

The three Kingsguard looked at one another and Ser Gerold gave Ser Arthur a brief nod. "Ser Oswell, mayhaps we should take a walk. Make sure everything is as it should be."

Lyanna kept quiet as the Lord Commander and his knight left the tower, leaving just her and Ser Arthur in the main room.

"Please sit, Lady Lyanna," Ser Arthur said. No matter how many times she had told him to call her Lyanna, despite it just being her, Rhaegar and Ser Arthur, he had never complied and had rigidly stuck to the formalities.

She sat and folded her hands primly in her lap, amazed at just how docile she was managing to be despite her rapid heartbeat. If her father could see her now, he would have given her that smile, the special one he reserved just for her when she managed to conform to ladylike behaviour.

"You cannot return to Winterfell," Ser Arthur said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"What do you mean? Are you to take me to King's Landing?" Lyanna frowned as she asked. Rhaegar had spoken to her at length regarding his father, both here and at Harrenhal. She knew that he had had no plans to take her to the Red Keep until he had put his father into protective custody and taken the Iron Throne for himself.

Ser Arthur spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty before dropping them again, as if he was unsure of what to do or say. "I am not quite sure how to tell you this, my Lady, but there is war in Westeros, and the North marches under Lord Stark alongside Lord Baratheon, Lord Arryn and Lord Tully against the crown."

Her head spun wildly for a moment before it settled and she was able to get out a confused question. "Why would my father be in rebellion?"

Violet eyes filled with sorrow looked at her for a brief moment. "Not your father, my Lady, but your brother, Eddard."

"But…but it cannot be Ned. Ned isn't a lord. He is not Lord Stark. That is my father, and Brandon is his heir," Lyanna said in a breathless rush, her voice sounding small and childlike even to her own ears.

"I'm very sorry to have to break this news to you. Prince Rhaegar wanted to spare you, but Lord Stark and Brandon Stark are dead on the orders of the king."

For a moment, it seemed as if she could not breathe, air trapped in her throat until it was painful. Her pulse throbbed at her temple before she was gasping in huge shuddering gulps of air that burned her throat, her head shaking side-to-side as she tried to come to terms with the news.

Then a mist descended, and her temper erupted, and she was screaming as she threw everything she could get her hands on at Ser Arthur, cursing him and Rhaegar and anyone else who had denied her the news she deserved to know.

* * *

Lyanna was not sure how long had passed before riders once more came to the Tower of Joy. She kept to her room for the majority of her time. Whereas before she had made a concerted effort to get out and talk to the three knights, she now shunned them. She could not look upon them without seeing her father or brother's face. These men had been left to protect her, and she was under no illusion that they would, but they had been in King's Landing not that long ago. Had they been present when Mad King Aerys had killed her family? Had they watched in silence?

Ser Arthur was more often than not the one who would bring her food and enquire after her health, asking if she needed anything for herself or the babe, which always brought a bitter smile to her face. Would they have stayed if it were not for the babe? Or would they have left her here whilst they went back to serve the madman they called king?

Mayhaps she should have hated the babe that grew in her stomach. Rhaegar had been obsessed with his prophecy, determined that the dragon should have three heads, that it was needed for the Prince that was Promised. Without his need for a third child, a second daughter, a Visenya for his Rhaenys and Aegon, he would never have stolen her away from Winterfell, and her family would not have died for it. But she could not.

Instead, Lyanna hugged her arms tightly around her stomach, determined that a wolf and not a dragon was taking root. She whispered Stark history to her in the dead of the night, told her of the Kings of Winter, of the old gods, and the North. This babe would be a Stark, she promised, a fierce direwolf of the North. She could not birth a dragon, not now, the gods could not be so cruel.

However, the appearance of the riders roused her from her apathy and she cracked open her door as she heard them stamp into the tower. For a brief moment, when she had spotted them on the horizon, her heart had skipped a beat as she squinted into the glare of the hot Dornish sun, trying to see if the banners housed a running direwolf, if Ned had ridden south to bring her home, but her heart sunk as she saw the sword and the falling star of House Dayne.

Keeping out of sight whilst the riders remained, Lyanna waited impatiently whilst they were watered and fed before disappearing back into the mountains towards the Summer Sea.

Once more, she found herself descending to ferret out news. It appeared it was further bad news, as the Kingsguard looked as winded as they had on the previous occasion.

"What has happened now?" she asked wearily, not sure she even wanted the answer.

Ser Gerold made no attempt to hide anything from her this time. "King's Landing has fallen, my Lady. King Aerys slain by our brother, Jaime Lannister."

Lyanna felt a momentary stab of gratitude towards Jaime Lannister. She remembered him from the tourney of Harrenhal, a beautiful golden boy-knight, who had looked so proud to be given the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Now just a few years later, he had turned kingslayer, and she could not be sad. The monstrous king who had murdered her father and brother was dead at his hands, and for that she would celebrate his existence.

It wasn't long before she thought about what this would mean for her. With both King Aerys and Rhaegar dead, that meant a babe was king, with his mother as a powerful Queen Regent, and she had no idea if her presence would be welcomed.

"What does this mean for me? Aegon is king now, but will the Martells welcome me?"

Both Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur remained silent, leaving it up to Ser Oswell to answer. "Prince Aegon, Princess Rhaenys and the Princess Elia were all slain. Robert Baratheon now sits on the throne."

"Dead," Lyanna whispered. "But they were children. Aegon nothing but a babe."

"Tywin Lannister needed them out of the way," Ser Gerold said bitterly. "You cannot have children from an old regime running around waiting to challenge for the throne once they are grown."

Lyanna's heart jumped into her mouth and her hands flew to her stomach, and the three knights followed her movement.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. "They will kill my child."

"Tywin Lannister would cut her from your womb whilst you still breathe," Ser Gerold said, getting up so fast that his chair fell backwards, falling loudly onto the stone slabs, but it was his words and not the noise that rang in Lyanna's ears.

"We need to go," she said anxiously. "We need to get away from here."

"And go where, my Lady?" Ser Gerold asked warily, looking for all the world like a man at the end of his rope. A man who could not take any more blows.

"I cannot remain here. My presence will be discovered at some point, and I cannot hope that it will be my brother who finds me."

"Your brother," Ser Oswell snorted. "Eddard Stark had Rhaegar's children laid at his feet. Who is to say he wouldn't lay your own at Robert's?"

Lyanna spun to face him, her lips drawn back in fury. "My brother would never hurt me or my kin. If you think he would, then you nothing about the Starks."

He looked at her in scorn, and she had a glimpse into how she was viewed by him. It had her flinching away for a brief moment before she moved forward, ready to strike the insolent expression from his face.

She found her way blocked by Ser Arthur. "Stop it!" he ordered, looking at Ser Oswell. "Eddard Stark is an honourable man. My sister says he argued with Robert Baratheon over what happened. But we cannot wait to be discovered, we need to move."

"And go where?" Ser Oswell asked.

Ser Arthur looked pensive for a moment. "Dragonstone. Queen Rhaella is there with Viserys. We should go there to, bring what is left of the royal family together and protect them."

"Prince Rhaegar wanted us to remain here. It's remote and hard to find. We should remain and honour his wishes," Ser Oswell said.

Lyanna, not one to forget a slight, rounded on him. "Prince Rhaegar is dead. All that remains for me is death. It won't be long before I am looked for, and we cannot guarantee that it will be Ned who finds me. And if it's not the Lannisters then what about the Martells? They are much closer and just think what trouble they could ferment if they get their hands on my babe. We need to move."

Ser Oswell looked as if he was about to make another cutting remark, but Ser Gerold raised a hand. "Ser Arthur's suggestion has merit. But the Lady Lyanna should not set sail for Dragonstone, but to one of the free cities. Robert Baratheon will move against Dragonstone soon, so it would be prudent to separate the Targaryen heirs for now."

Lyanna could not help but feel a stab of resentment at how she was only worth this trouble because of what she carried in her womb, but she stifled it, knowing that she was reliant on these knights for now.

"Ser Arthur will go with Lady Lyanna whilst you and I will travel on to Dragonstone, Ser Oswell," Ser Gerold continued. "Pentos is probably the best city to head for. The Targaryens have friends there. You will have to travel down to Oldtown in disguise, and I suggest you retain that disguise until we join you in Pentos."

"Braavos," Lyanna interjected. "I will go to Braavos." She would go as close as she could get to the North, and when she was able, she would return to Winterfell and to Ned. Her child was not going to be used as a pawn in this game of thrones. It would see them both dead.

"My Lady," Ser Gerold said, frowning. "Pentos would be better."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I will go to Braavos, or I stay here."

"Lady Lyanna, please leave the plans in our hands," Ser Arthur said, entreating her with a small smile.

These Southrons knew nothing about Stark stubbornness, but she was more than willing to teach them. "I will only go to Braavos. If you wish to go to Pentos, then be my guest, but _I_ will be boarding a ship to Braavos."

Lyanna heard Ser Oswell mutter about stubborn wenches under his breath, and she smiled wolfishly. "I am most certainly am, Ser Oswell, so it might be best for you if you remember how much you need _me _and what I am carrying right now."

"Braavos it is," Ser Arthur said dryly. Lyanna thought he was probably used to strong-willed women, having met his sister, Lady Ashara, at Harrenhal.

* * *

After the heat of Dorne, Braavos had been a welcome change for this daughter of the North. She had arrived there exhausted from the journey from the Tower of Joy and heavy with child. She'd spent most of her days confined to the bed, not out of choice, but because of need, whilst Ser Arthur had sallied forth each morning seeking news from the docks and also to find her an experienced woman to help her with her lying in. They had been lucky in the latter, but the former brought nothing but bad news.

Now a year later, as she sat gazing down at the downy head of her babe sleeping in his crib, she smiled. He was perfect. Rhaegar might not have thought so, so set had he been on the idea that any child of their union would be a girl, had to be a girl, a Visenya for his Aegon.

But the gods had answered one thing for her, as her babe was all Stark with no hint of Targaryen. His hair was the dark brown of her own and his eyes were the grey of the Stark banners. She had named him for her family also. Not Brandon or Rickard or anything that came with too much pain. That grief was raw and festered in her soul, coming to the surface in her darkest moments.

Ser Arthur argued that her son had been born a Targaryen king in exile but she had named him for a King of Winter, Jon, the king who drove out sea raiders from White Harbour and built the Wolf's Den. Ser Arthur had turned his mouth down at that name, suggesting instead the name Daeron, which he had called the babe whilst she had been ill with birthing fever. Lyanna had laughed and refused, stating that Starks had ruled the North for eight thousand years, whilst the Targaryens had only managed three hundred and that was mainly because of dragons. That had caused Ser Arthur to frown and look disapproving, but he had not argued, for which Lyanna was grateful. She was too tired for that sort of activity.

Lyanna had been lucky to survive the birth, the midwife had told her, as she had lost a lot of blood. She had drifted in and out of consciousness for half a moon's turn, but luckily, with the remedies and care available in Braavos, she had recovered and had been grateful that she had insisted on leaving the Tower of Joy behind, sure that she would've not have survived there. It had taken many moons, and she had been unable to nurse her son, but she was still here and able to care for the babe on her own.

A thud below made her lift her head from where she was contemplating her son. It heralded the return of Ser Arthur. Usually he took time to remove the dirt from outside before he would hesitantly venture into her room and enquire after her and Jon. Today, however, his feet clattered up the stairs immediately, and he burst into the room.

"Dragonstone has fallen," he panted. "The royal children are here in Braavos with Ser Willem Darry."

Lyanna's heart fell. This was the worst possible news after they had settled so well in the city as a married couple who had fled the bloodshed in Westeros. Ser Arthur had secured a job as a guard in the citadel which paid them enough coin to live satisfactorily. It was not the luxury that she had grown up in, but neither was it the penury that she had seen on the streets of the city. She had enjoyed leaving the burden of being Rhaegar's runaway bride behind, and she certainly did not want her child to live a life where he was a banner for fallen dreams and hopes.

"The children? Where is Queen Rhaella? Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell?"

Ser Arthur's face took on the sad expression she had seen so often since the news of Rhaegar's death on the banks of the Trident had reached them. "The Queen perished in the child bed, giving birth in the middle of the storm that sunk the Targaryen fleet. Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell died defending Dragonstone and giving Ser Willem a chance to flee with the children. Princess Daenerys is naught but a babe in arms."

Lyanna looked down at her own sturdy little babe and vowed there and then that she would not join up with his remaining aunt and uncle. She might be their goodsister, but she could give them nothing, and they could do nothing for her or Jon in return.

"No," she said baldly.

"What?" Ser Arthur asked, confused.

"I know what it is that you want, and I refuse. I will not go to Ser Willem and the children. I will not take Jon there."

Ser Arthur sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "We cannot remain like this. Jon is the rightful king. It is right that he unites with his family and fights for what is rightfully his."

Lyanna scoffed. "The Targaryens conquered Westeros with fire and blood, and they have lost Westeros the same way. There is no rightful ruler, only those with the power to take the throne. A babe of barely one year is not going to rally men around him."

In the two years since Lyanna had left Winterfell, she had lost any remaining girlhood dreams. Once she had loved songs and those who inhabited them, but experience had taught her that life was not a song. She had learnt it the hard way and through the blood of her kin, but she would not fall victim to the same ideals again.

"Westeros is lost to the Targaryens," she said turning away.

"Where is it you want to go then?" Ser Arthur asked, frustration heavy in his voice.

"Home. To Winterfell."

"You think you can return back to the North with a Targaryen babe in tow? You know what Robert Baratheon did to the Princess Elia and her children. Do you think he would really spare you and Jon?"

Lyanna was under no illusions where her former betrothed was concerned. She knew that if he caught wind of her survival and that she had Rhaegar's child, he would drag Jon kicking and screaming from her arms and kill him.

But Ned. She knew Ned would shelter her and protect his nephew. He would keep her safe, but just her reappearance in Westeros would bring him into conflict with Robert, and she could not put him that position. It would mean war between the two foster brothers because Ned would never give her or Jon up.

A tear slipped down her cheek that she wiped angrily away. "I know," she said, defeated.

"We cannot remain here forever, my Lady. At some point news of us will slip out. I have already encountered Stark men at the Arsenal and the Citadel. They ask of news regarding a missing Lady Lyanna Stark, and it will not be long before Robert Barathon sends men for Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys."

It was the first that Lyanna had heard about any men of her brother's in Braavos, and the thought that he still searched for her warmed her heart. They had heard news over the past year that he had travelled throughout Westeros looking for her, and it had torn at her heart that she could not send word that she was fine and well.

However, a plan had been formulating in Lyanna's mind, ever since she had started to tell Jon stories from the North. Stories she had learnt sitting at Old Nan's knee and later recreated with Benjen in the Godswood. It was foolhardy, and she would have trouble getting Ser Arthur to agree, but it was the one place where no one would think to look for her.

Lyanna turned back to face the faithful Kingsguard and said, "I want you to enquire about ships going to Eastwatch-by-Sea."

"Eastwatch-by-Sea? You want to go to the Wall?"

"No, I want to go to the land beyond the Wall."


	2. Eddard

**Author's Note: Thank you all for your enthusiastic response to this fic. Your reviews have been great motivation for me to get cracking on the next couple of chapters.**

**I forgot to mention in the previous chapter the relationships listed for this fic. I forget that listing multi-couple works on this site is a nightmare! So the relationships listed over at AO3 are:**

**Catelyn/Ned**

**Lyanna/Rhaegar (mentioned)**

**Arthur/Lyanna (UST)**

**Jon/Sansa**

**A big thanks to DKNC for beta'ing this chapter and lending me her insight into Ned.**

* * *

**Eddard**

Ned walked back to his set of chambers, sober despite the feast, and rubbing a hand wearily over his brow. Tonight he felt as if his namedays had doubled. Robert's offer sat heavily on his mind. _Offers_, he thought, not forgetting the king's desire to betroth Sansa to the crown prince.

Despite knowing beforehand what Robert had ridden up here to ask of him, Ned found that his mind was still undecided. The greater part of him wanted to refuse and stay in the North. This was where Starks belonged, not down in King's Landing. But Robert was his foster brother and he hated to deny him his help.

Ned was also more than aware that Robert was no longer the boy in the Eyrie, but a king, and one not used to hearing no. Would Robert accept a refusal or would there be consequences for Ned and his family?

The toll kingship had wrought on Robert also played on his mind. His friend was a shadow of the man he had last seen on Pyke. Although, if tonight was anything to go by, Robert's appetites remained. Ned shook his head. He was returning from escorting Robert to his chambers in the Guest House, sagging and stumbling between the steadying arms of two of his Kingsguard. It was a far cry from when they were younger and in the Eyrie, and Ned would escort an inebriated Robert back to his rooms, a guiding hand and a strong arm enough to halt any staggers.

Sighing heavily as he crossed the over the covered bridge that led from the Armoury to the Great Keep, Ned could not shake the sense of foreboding. It was almost as if he could hear the whispers of his ancestors in the dark corners, pleading with him to remain in Winterfell, in the North. Reminding him that nothing good came of Starks who went south. His lord father and Brandon had gone south and neither had returned alive.

And Lyanna. The grief that overtook him as he thought of his spirited sister sat heavily in his heart. Lyanna had never returned either and he had no bones to bury for her.

For years, he had sent men to try and find her, hoping that somehow she might still be alive, that she had escaped Westeros across the Narrow Sea with Ser Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning had also never been found and had been replaced on the Kingsguard a year after Robert ascended the throne. Part of him still clung to hope that she was alive somewhere, but if she was, why hadn't she returned?

The shadow materialised out from the dark startling Ned, whose hand automatically went to grasp the dagger that lay tucked into his belt.

"Lord Stark," came a low voice, and Ned peered into the gloom, recognising one of the singers that had graced the feast this evening as he came closer. The uniformity of his black cloak was broken by red swatches of wool. The lute he had played rested limply in his hand.

"Yes?" Ned asked sharply.

The man bowed, his action seemingly respectful but there was something in his manner that made Ned feel as if he was being mocked somehow. "I was bid to bring you this," he said, holding out a rolled-up parchment that was tied with a faded ribbon of blue.

Ned took it from his outstretched hand and looked at it in confusion. All his correspondence went through Maester Luwin regardless of import, and he glanced back up, keen to question the musician further, only to frown as the man had disappeared, not even the sound of his footsteps echoing on stone. Ned looked out into the courtyard, shrouded in darkness, but he could not see a figure hurrying across the pools of moonlight.

His finger tapped along the top of the folded letter. Its manner of delivery was too suspicious for Ned to be at ease. No one he knew would ask a travelling musician to deliver him a message. His plans to retire to Cat's chambers receded and he made his way to his solar instead.

* * *

An hour later, the knock on his solar door echoed through his head and he opened his eyes to Benjen walking in.

"Ned, is everything fine?"

He looked down at the ribbon he was fingering. It was a faded blue and here and there you could pick out remnants of fine embroidery, winter roses interspersed with direwolves. The tic in his jaw jumped as he thought of the last time he had seen it.

"Here," he said as he flung it across the desk to Benjen.

"What is this?" Benjen asked, picking it up, before he stopped, shock rendering his mouth open before he raised his gaze to Ned's, confusion in his grey eyes. "Lyanna?"

"There's more," Ned said, passing the parchment across and rubbed his temples, enjoying the brief relief it brought him from the headache that was building.

There was a silence in the room for a good few moments. "Mance Rayder was here?" Benjen asked, and Ned's lips twitched in brief amusement.

"That's what you got out of the letter?"

"Of course not," Benjen said with laugh that quickly turned into a stifled sob. "It all seems too fantastical to believe let alone the fact that Lyanna is alive and was mere miles away from me all this time," he said, a frown descending onto his brow. "If she's with Rayder then she would've known I was at Castle Black and she didn't come to me."

"I'm sure she had her reasons, although what they could be baffle me," Ned said before he got up and paced to the window.

The lit candles had turned the pane of glass into a dark mirror and he could see Benjen caressing the ribbon lovingly. His brother had been close to Lyanna, they had been the two left at Winterfell whilst Brandon had been fostered at Barrowton, and he had gone south to the Eyrie with Robert. Ned had never asked his brother why he had decided to join the Night's Watch after the war. The Stark line had been decimated, and Benjen would've received the keep that was to have been Ned's, but his brother had declined, saying it had always been his plan to take the Black. However, it was the first Ned had heard about it. He had always wondered if it had been because of Lyanna, because he could not stand to be part of a world where his beloved big sister no longer existed.

"She was not kidnapped," Benjen said, breaking the silence.

Ned looked down to where his hand lay fisted on the window sill, the skin pulled white across his knuckles. "I had my suspicions."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He turned to face his brother whose grim expression matched how he felt. "What good would it have done? Did you honestly think Lyanna was still alive until now? And Robert-" Ned broke off to slump back down in his chair. "Robert needs the fantasy of who he thought Lyanna was."

A glimmer of distaste ran across Benjen's face. "He wouldn't have treated her any better than he does his Lannister Queen."

Ned remembered Lyanna's words to him _Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature_. Would Robert have changed if he had married Lyanna? Ned liked to think so, but the doubt remained.

One thing was certain, Lyanna's letter could not have come at a more ill-timed moment with Robert and the royal household in attendance at Winterfell, but of course that had given her an opportunity to send it with Mance Rayder.

"The king wants me to go to King's Landing to be his Hand," Ned said.

Benjen looked unsurprised. "And are you?" he asked, bringing his hand down to rest on top of the letter.

"I would have done, most likely, but as Warden in the North, I cannot dismiss Lyanna's words lightly. I will go to Castle Black with you."

"So you think she is right?"

"The deserter we caught a moon or so ago mentioned Others, but he was half mad with fear, and I did not think to take him seriously. However, he was the fourth deserter in the last 12 moons. That is unusual, but surely you are in a better position to say than me. Is everything as normal up on the Wall?" Ned asked.

"The Wildlings are on the move. We are not sure where or why and the Lord Commander sent Gared, the deserted you caught, along with Waymar Royce and one other, out on that ranging to try and get answers. We have yet to hear from the other two. We've also heard some disturbing reports from Eastwatch-on-Sea, sightings of inexplicable things that have been called Others. The evidence is starting to stack up."

"Others," Ned murmured. "Gods, they only exist in Old Nan's tales."

Benjen met his eyes. "Do they?"

* * *

Ned wasn't sure how much later it was when the door to his solar creaked open and his wife stepped through the door.

"This is where you got to," she said, amusement laced with a little exasperation on her face. "It's late, my love, come to bed."

Candlelight danced through her loose hair, turning her tresses into fiery hues. He never ceased to love her hair, and right now he wished to bury his face deep within it, smell the sweet herbs she used to wash it, and forget his problems. Instead, he gestured for her to come and sit by him.

"I have something I need to show you, Cat."

They had never really discussed Lyanna, not even when they were newly married, or when Ned sent men out to Essos to search for her. Ned had been loath to bring the subject up, it would open too many painful wounds. Cat was to have been Brandon's wife just as Winterfell was to have been his. This life had not been meant for Ned but he had taken it. However, the decision he had made was going to affect her, too. It was likely Robert would be offended and that would make things difficult for the Lady of Winterfell.

Catelyn gave him a puzzled look as he held out the parchment to her but she took it and he watched as she read through, her eyes skimming it at first before a frown settled on her face and her eyes went back to the beginning to read through it all over again. "Is this a jape?" she asked, once she had read it a second time.

"It's truly Lyanna. There are things in there that prove it. She made sure to include information that only Benjen or I could know. She would have known I would doubt its authenticity otherwise. It also came with this," he said, holding out the ribbon. "It was our lady mother's. Father gave it to Lyanna when she turned fourteen. She wore it at Harrenhal, the last time I saw her."

"Why now? Why after all this time?"

"You saw why. She says the Others are rising."

Catelyn looked at him in amazement. "You've always told me that they are just stories, legends that don't exist, told by Old Nan to scare children."

Ned rubbed at the furrow between his eyebrows that was threatening to become permanent. "I know. I still find it hard to believe that they aren't, but too many things are happening that point to the inexplicable, and Lyanna would not lie to me about this."

A puzzled noise escaped from Catelyn's throat, and he remembered just how many times she had awoken from nightmares caused by the stories told to her by Old Nan when she first arrived. How he had laughed her fears away and assured her that Others were only figments of men's imagination.

"It is said that the Night's Watch is named as such because it is to guard against the Long Night. The deserter the other day mentioned Others as well."

Catelyn dropped the letter and framed his face between her hands. "Ned, surely this is fantasy. You have not seen Lyanna for over fifteen years, and if she is living beyond the wall with Wildlings, then she might not be the same girl you knew. And you said yourself that the deserter was half-mad with fear and exhaustion," she said the words softly, not wanting to wound him, Ned knew.

"She's not lost her mind, Cat, her message is too lucid for that. No, she speaks the truth and I must go to Castle Black with Benjen."

"You can't!" she cried. "The king!"

"I will refuse him. I am Warden of the North and it is my duty to investigate these rumours."

Cat got up and paced agitatedly. "You must not refuse Robert, my love. He will not accept it and will grow suspicious of you. Then if he hears Lyanna still lives-" she broke off, not needing to finish.

"Robert knows I would never move against him. I helped win him his throne."

"And you think he thanks you for that?" she asked darkly.

Ned drew back, his temper starting to rise. He knew Catelyn meant well but the North was a Stark's place, not down in King's Landing, and who else, if not the Starks, would come to the Night's Watch aid if the Others were returning. "Robert will understand. He knows the North is my duty."

"And when he hears about Lyanna? You think he will understand then, or will he think you have something to hide? Something that will harm him?"

"We were fostered together, Cat. Closer than brothers," Ned said, knowing deep in his heart Robert was no longer that boy and Ned could no longer rely on the affection forged in the Vale. The king was surrounded by Lannisters, a house only too willing and able to pit Robert against any other friends to retain their influence.

"And he is king now. A king who wishes to honour you with this position. If you refuse, you may bring harm to us."

"And how do I go south when I have received word from Lyanna about danger to the North?"

The expression on Catelyn's face was sceptical, and he knew it was his fault. He had always stressed that the Others were nothing but stories, and now he expected her to support him in turning the king down to go and investigate reports of their return. She had also grown up too far from the Wall to realise it's import. Her ancestors had still been in Essos when Starks were defeating the Others during the Long Night. The threat might have been forgotten all these thousands of years later, and Ned might have not believed in Others until tonight, but he knew to trust the word of another Stark.

"You place us in danger, Ned, if you do this."

"Robert will be angry, he may even leave Winterfell in a temper, but he will calm down and our bond will remain strong."

After all, they had almost come to blows before when the children of Elia had been laid at Robert's feet and he had approved their murders. Besides, it would be best if Robert was gone from Winterfell and back in the Red Keep by the time he returned from the Wall. Ned had every intention to bring Lyanna home.

"There is something else you must hear before you decide on this course," Catelyn said, leaning forward so her mouth rested against Ned's ear. "Lysa wrote to me, concealed it in a lens from Myr, which was placed on Maester Luwin's desk. She says the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn."

Ned whipped his head around sharply, his face resting so close to Catelyn's that he could see each individual eyelash. "And you believe her."

"She has no reason to lie and she takes a great risk to tell me. She says the Lannister Queen poisoned him. If you go south, you can investigate and bring Jon's killers to justice."

But Ned had reached a very different conclusion, if anything was strengthen his conviction to stay in the North, it was this. "I would do well to stay away."

"You would let Jon Arryn's killers escape punishment."

"You have seen the court, it's swamped with Lannisters. How am I to find the truth in that pit of vipers? No, I will go north and find the truth in these reports Lyanna sends. Ben agrees."

Catelyn's face screwed up in disapproval. "Of course Benjen agrees. He's a man of the Night's Watch, and we saw tonight just how seriously the king took his plea for more men to man the Wall."

"Exactly," Ned said emphatically. "The south will never heed a call from the Night's Watch if the claims of Others are true. Not until the Wall is overrun and the Others are crossing the Trident. A Stark built that Wall and House Stark shall defend it."

"I only hope you will not come to regret this. And what about Sansa?"

"She is too young," he said. He was not keen to betroth his daughter just yet, and he knew from Robb that Joffrey was arrogant and too cocksure.

"She would be queen and I was not much older when my father betrothed me to Brandon."

Ned suppressed the pang of guilt that stabbed through him. The thought that Brandon should be standing here, making these decisions, had been in his thoughts more frequently in the past few hours. The letter from Lyanna had made sure of that. And now this.

Catelyn put her hand on his arm. "You need to tread carefully before offending the king by rejecting both offers. Let the betrothal stand. Sansa would do well in the south and she would be queen."

He saw the sense in his wife's words, as much as he disliked the idea and the Lannister look of the crown prince. "Fine," he said. "I will sanction the betrothal but Sansa stays in Winterfell until she is old enough to marry."

"I would not wish to send her south without family either."

Nodding his agreement, Ned took the hand she had on his arm in his hand. "Come, my lady," he said. "Let's retire."


	3. Lyanna II

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your response to this fic. I have been greatly motivated by your comments and thoughts on the previous chapters.**

**A massive thanks, once more, to DKNC for all her help with this chapter.**

* * *

**Lyan****na**

The sour looks of the men opening the gate that led into the tunnel under the Wall was not lost on Lyanna, nor the fear when they caught sight of Jon's direwolf pup. She had warned her son to keep Ghost close just in case.

The disparaging remarks about Wildlings that were muttered under breaths had her reaching for her shortsword, but Arthur's hand on the small of her back went some way to calming her temper. Wolf's blood, her brothers had always said, and Mance had often made joking remarks that Lyanna's blood ran hotter than that of the Dornishman who stood by her side.

Her ability to cope with the snide remarks was not helped by her terrible anxiety about this whole action. It had been fifteen years since she had last seen either of her brothers and she could not imagine that either would be impressed that she had been on the other side of the Wall all this time. Part of her had hoped that Benjen would ride out to meet her, but she was yet to catch sight of him.

Lyanna had not realised just how much she had missed her home until Mance had said he was going to slip into Winterfell to set eyes on the King on the Iron Throne. For the first time in a long while, she had longed for the place of her birth. So much so that it had been a physical pain in her chest, causing her to struggle to breathe.

Mance's primary reason for going was curiosity and to prove that he could sit in the Great Hall under the Starks' noses. Lyanna had no illusions when it came to Mance's vanity, but she had decided to utilise it for some good. There were problems beyond the Wall, things rising that should only exist in the stories she had heard as a child at Old Nan's knee.

Lyanna had yet to encounter one, but the news filtering in from villages dotted over the Haunted Forest had not been good. The dead were returning with bright blue eyes to murder their loved ones, and people spoke in hushed whispers of icy beings that moved with great speed and wielded their weapons with great skill. The thought of them made Lyanna shiver with fright.

So she had decided to warn Ned, to tell him exactly what was happening. She was not sure what to expect, but she had hopes for help of some kind. She was sure that if the word of the Others came to Ned from her then he was more likely to believe it. Lyanna had found it difficult herself to comprehend that the Others were real and not just a tale to scare young children.

And soon word had gotten to her that the Ned was on his way to Castle Black.

Mance had scoffed when she told him that she was going to head to the Wall and Castle Black. Told her that the Crows would kill her on sight. And if they didn't, he had been sure that if she did get to see Ned, all he would want was his sister back, and once she was safe behind the walls of Winterfell, Ned would forget all about her words and leave the Free Folk to their fate.

So, he had continued his plans to unite the various tribes and clans so he could lead them in an attack on the Wall. He was sure that once they were the other side, the magic in the Wall would keep the Others from crossing.

But Mance had not taken Lyanna's stubborn nature into consideration. Once more she had been underestimated, just as her father, Robert and Rhaegar had done before. She would not turn her back on the friends she had made beyond the Wall, and even if they hadn't been friends, she would refuse to leave them to Others. That was a fate no man deserved.

So she had demanded a letter from him to Lord Commander Mormont. An opportunity to get into Castle Black and to see Ned and Benjen without revealing her identity. Mance had given it to her, as a farewell, he had told her. His attitude was shared in the village, and the mistrusting looks she had received over the last few moons had caused to lose her temper on more than one occasion. She was not deserting them for the safety of castle walls.

Lyanna had assimilated well into the Free Folk, enjoying the freedom it afforded her. Her sword skills were better than most, the Wildlings not having the discipline or men-at-arms to teach true methods, and she had carved a niche for herself as one of Mance's most outspoken counsellors.

She had done far better than Arthur, who still struggled with the lack of hierarchy or roles. Lyanna had told him years ago that he could return to Starfall if he wanted. Beyond the Wall was no place for a man of Dorne, who shivered no matter how many furs he tucked around himself. It certainly was not the place for a member of the Kingsguard, mocked as he was, and named Ser Kneeler. But he had borne all this for Jon's sake, and even if Lyanna disagreed with keeping the commands of a dead prince long forgotten south of the Wall, she appreciated his care of her son.

She turned and looked behind at Jon, who was bringing up the rear. He had not wanted to come, and had argued that he should go with Mance to the Frostfangs, sure that his place was among the Free Folk. He had not wanted to miss out on any fighting or leave his lifelong friends, especially Ygritte. Lyanna had not missed the glances the girl sent her boy. Ygritte would not be averse to Jon stealing her. Only his age had stopped him so far, just slightly too young to have the courage to carry it through. Lyanna tried not to think of how she had been stolen, or the consequences that had arisen from that. She had been not much older than Jon, a child no matter how old she had thought herself.

Bitter words had been exchanged between mother and child, and it had taken Arthur's intervention to make sure Jon had come with them. Lyanna still wasn't sure what he had said to her son, but Jon was here and that was all that mattered.

"Lord Commander Mormont has asked for you to go to his chambers," the Crow who had guided them under the Wall said. He sniffed once more, giving Lyanna no mistake as to what he thought about the group he was leading.

Arthur's hand settled once more on her back, and she bit back a smile, the warm weight helping her to see the amusing side.

* * *

Lord Commander Mormont was a bear of a man who Lyanna remembered from feast days her father would hold in the Great Hall at Winterfell. His intimidating presence had not changed despite his age, and setting eyes on him once more had Lyanna slipping far back into the past.

"Lady Lyanna," he said, taking the parchment from Mance out of her hands.

"Lord Commander," she said, falling easily into the courtesies expected of her. "May I present Ser Arthur Dayne, and our child, Jon Snow?"

The Lord Commander eyed her son and his direwolf closely, but said nothing. However, his bushy eyebrows descended when he moved on to Arthur.

"Ser Arthur," he said, disapproval heavy in his tone.

Lyanna could see Arthur stiffening at her side. He would resent the unspoken reproof, she knew. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch would certainly judge Arthur's actions as a dereliction of his duty, but Lyanna was not going to gamble by giving away the true parentage of her son just so the Lord Commander would understand that Arthur had not deserted his post. The Night's Watch might not take sides, but she did know that not all Crows were honourable, whether Lord Commander Mormont was or not.

"Lord Commander," Arthur replied, ice overlying the polite words.

"Are either of my brothers here?" Lyanna asked, keen to break the hostility between the two men.

"Lord Stark and First Ranger Stark are still making their way towards Castle Black. I am afraid that I am going to have to ask you to leave before they get here."

"Why?" Lyanna asked, sharply.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister is travelling with them. Lord Stark sent a raven to inform me before setting out. He asks that you head straight to Winterfell, where he will meet with you in a few moons time."

Lyanna's heart sank at the news. Whilst she understood the precaution of keeping her identity closely guarded, it meant she would not be able to speak with either Ned or Benjen for ages, and all the while, the situation north of the Wall grew grimmer. She had hoped to win them both around to her plan before she brought it before the Lord Commander, knowing that their support would lead credence to her suggestion and make it more likely to be accepted.

"Has Lord Stark shared with you the reason I have come?" Lyanna asked, keen to gauge his reaction.

The Lord Commander gave a curt nod and she could see the wariness in his eyes. "It is true," she said.

"Have you see an Other for yourself?"

"No, but the fear is not to be dismissed easily. The Free Folk are scared, and something is killing whole villages."

"I do not wish to doubt your words, my lady, but I have learnt never to trust a Wildling. Are you sure these aren't just tales?"

"My ancestor did not build this Wall to keep Free Folk out. He built it to keep something much scarier on the other side."

"Eight thousand years can lead to stories being embellished. The Wildlings have ever been a troublesome folk."

Lyanna could see her son shifting in annoyance to the side of her, Ghost's tail swishing in agitation, and she willed him to bite his tongue. His inevitable defence of the Free Folk would not help her. Neither would his wolf biting the Lord Commander as it had Orell just a moon past.

"This is not a normal blood feud, Lord Commander, or a tribe fighting another. Entire villages are disappearing, and people are on the move. Something is hunting the living down."

"And what would you have me do? The governance of the Wildlings is not my concern."

"Meet with Mance Rayder-"

"That is out of the question! He is a deserter of the Night's Watch, and if I catch him he will be hanged as one," Lord Commander Mormont interrupted.

"Petty rivalries will not help us here. The Long Night is returning, and we need to be prepared. You know the words of my house, and this winter will be no usual one."

"So what would you have me agree with Rayder?"

"I believe he has set out his terms in that parchment you hold. All I ask is that you keep an open mind to anything he suggests, no matter how much your instinct is to decline."

The Lord Commander nodded stiffly before he said, "I have arranged for chambers to be prepared for your party tonight, but must ask that you set out for Winterfell tomorrow. The Wall is no place for a woman, Lady Lyanna, and I cannot guarantee my men's behaviour. I therefore ask that you remain in your chambers for the rest of today. I will have food sent up."

"What about Arthur and Jon? May they move about?" Lyanna asked, stifling the annoyance at having her own movement restricted.

The Lord Commander looked over both men, dressed in the garb of the Free Folk. "I cannot stop them, but my men may well prove quarrelsome."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Lyanna was cooped up in the small set of chambers allotted to her, Arthur and Jon. After watching both of them pace the floor for an indeterminable time, Lyanna had sent them out. Neither had wished to leave her, and had only gone when she had accepted Jon's demand that he leave Ghost behind to protect her.

The knock at the outer door caused her to look away from the window through which she could see only the wall. Ghost stood up protectively at her side, and she called out for the visitor to enter."

"Mother," came Jon's voice, and Ghost subsided, putting his head on his paws and heaving out a huge sigh. "I have the Maester outside. He wishes to meet you."

Lyanna's eybrows rose, but she called for Jon and his guest to enter.

The door creaked open, and a tiny, wrinkled man was revealed. He looked bowed under the weight of years, the large Maester chain loose around his neck, his arm held firmly by Jon as he tottered inside. Her son helped him into a chair next to her. He turned towards her direction, and his filmy white eyes fixated unnervingly on her face.

"Mother, may I introduce Maester Aemon. I met him outside in the training yard, and he asked if I would escort him to meet you."

The name was a Targaryen one, which was not unusual in itself, but it rang something in her memory, and it suddenly came rushing back. Rhaegar had mentioned a great-great-uncle at the Wall with whom he had corresponded. They had discussed the prophecies that had exercised Rhaegar so much. Was it possible the old man was still alive? She could not refuse to see him if he was. She was the last connection to his great-great-nephew.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maester. Jon, would you be kind enough to fetch some refreshment. Take Ghost with you."

"But Mother-" Jon started to say.

"No, I will be perfectly fine with the Maester here. I'm sure none of the men of the Night's Watch will bother me with him present."

"My son," Maester Aemon said in a soft voice that showed the fragility of his age. "If you go and see my steward, Chett, then he will take you to the kitchen and see that you are given what you require."

Her son stood and stared for a moment, looking as if he might rebel, before he conceded and clicked his fingers to his wolf. "Come, Ghost," he said.

"My lady," Maester Aemon said. "It is an honour to meet you."

"Likewise. Rhaegar told me many things about you."

Sorrow came over his face and, for a moment, Lyanna regretted bringing up Rhaegar's name, but she knew that was the reason the ancient Maester had sought her out.

"Ah, my poor boy. I was so tempted to go to him."

Lyanna nearly asked him what he meant, but stopped. Her father's and Brandon's deaths still haunted her, and she could imagine the same might be said for the ancient Targaryen.

But the Maester seemed to sense her confusion and continued, "I have been tested three times to break my vows and go to the aid my family, and only one time did I come close to doing so."

He didn't need to tell her when that time was.

"I am sorry. I did not think our actions would cause such a reaction. I tried to send word to my family that I was fine, but I fear they never received the news."

He smiled kindly at her. "My child, it could never have been your fault. If my great-nephew had been a wiser king, it would never have come to such a rebellion. And I am afraid I did much to encourage my great-great-nephew in his study of the prophecy."

The prophecy's large role in motivating Rhaegar no longer stung. She was not the naïve girl who had fled an unwanted marriage to find she had only been taken to fulfil a prophecy. It had been folly and one that had caused the country to burn.

The old Maester sighed. "But one cannot change the past. I have seen too many of my family chase dragons and dreams only to come to their ruin," he said, before smiling and his tone lifting. "But I hear an echo of Rhaegar in your son."

Lyanna tensed, her heart kick-starting into a rapid rhythm, and it took her a moment to catch enough breath to say her next words. "I am sure I do not know what you mean."

The knowing look on the blind man's face was disconcerting. "My lady, that child is not Ser Arthur's. I may be old, but my mind is still sharp, and I can do my sums. The boy tells me he has seen fourteen namedays."

Fear gripped Lyanna, causing her hands to curl tightly onto the arms of her chair. "Please," she said breathlessly. "Please, Maester Aemon, share this with no one."

A soft kindness infused Master Aemon's face. "Have no fear, child, I do not mean to tell. What good would it do? I know what happened to those sweet babes in King's Landing, and I have no wish for my last great-great-great nephew to end the same way."

"Thank you," Lyanna said, tears spilling from her eyes as relief flooded through her body.

"You would do well to heed the prophecy," he said. "You know as well as I that the darkness is rising."

Lyanna jumped up agitatedly and began to pace. "No. My son has nothing to do with that prophecy. He is not the Prince that was Promised."

"You cannot know that. Rhaegar was convinced-" he started to say before she interrupted.

"Rhaegar was convinced that Aegon was the Prince that was Promised, and that Jon would be a girl. A Visenya to join his brother and sister. But he was wrong, and Aegon and Rhaenys are dead all because of Rhaegar's need to fulfil a prophecy he read wrong."

"Mayhaps Rhaegar foresaw the wrong son, and Jon is the Prince that was Promised."

"There are two other Targaryens. Why not either of them? Why Jon? Both Viserys and Daenerys are born from the right line."

"Yes," Maester Aemon muttered distractedly. "Three Targaryens left, and the dragon must have three heads."

"Four, if you count yourself," Lyanna said cynically.

But he was no longer listening to her, instead murmuring under his breath excitedly. Lyanna lost her temper. "Listen to me!" she said sharply. "I will not have Jon caught up in this. He is no dragon, the direwolf that prowls by his side is proof of that."

"Mum?" came the query from the door, and Lyanna closed her eyes.

"Come in, son," Maester Aemon said. "Put that tray on the table there and close the door."

"No," Lyanna said weakly. "You are not to say anything."

"What is going on?" Jon asked. "I heard something about me and dragons."

Lyanna turned to face her son and tried to plaster a fake smile on her face. From his frown, she could tell that she had failed to make it convincing. "It's nothing, sweetling. Now, are you going to stay with us or return to wherever your father is?"

A sharp intake of breath came from Maester Aemon. "You have not told him?" he asked, and Lyanna could hear the accusation in his voice.

"Told me what?" Jon said, frustrated.

"There is nothing to tell," she said fiercely.

"He deserves to know," the Maester said insistently.

"It is none of your business."

"You know what is out there as well as I do," the old man said stubbornly. "And if he is the Prince that was Promised, he needs to be prepared."

"That Prince that was what?" Jon asked before he laughed, confused. "I'm not a prince."

"You are, Jon Snow-"

But the Maester did not get any further. Lyanna descended on him and grabbed his frail arm in a tight grip. "That is enough!" she ordered. "I will not allow you to tell him."

"Mother!" Jon said, shocked at her actions. Then he registered the words. "Tell me what? What are you keeping from me?"

Lyanna let go of the Maester and turn to her son. "It is nothing, Jon. You don't need to worry."

"If it is nothing then why won't you tell me?"

"Because there is no need."

Lyanna watched as Ghost padded towards Jon, his tail swishing the way it did when Jon was irritated or upset. He nosed into Jon's curled up hand, and Lyanna saw the visible release of breath as Jon flattened his hand and entwined it in his wolf's fur.

"If you don't tell me, I will seek out Maester Aemon when you are asleep and ask him."

She looked between the old man and her son, the mulish look on both their faces hinting at shared blood, and slumped back into her chair, recognising that she was beaten.

* * *

Arthur found her later that evening, her eyes rimmed red from crying, and a defeated look on face. He dropped his hand to her shoulder in a comforting gesture and squeezed lightly.

"Have you seen him?" she asked, her hand creeping up to cover his.

Arthur nodded. "Luckily, he had enough sense not to confront me in front of the Night's Watch, but the conversation was not pleasant."

Lyanna nodded her head. "I thought I was doing the best thing for him and now he hates me."

Arthur moved round and crouched in front of her, taking both of her hands in his. "You did the right thing."

"You didn't think that back in Braavos. You wanted to go to Viserys and Daenerys, and have him brought up with them."

"I find time and distance has a way of making you see things from a different angle. I know why you took the decision you did, and it has kept Jon safe."

"Until now," Lyanna said, stifling a sob. "But now he hates me for lying to him, and I haven't even faced my brothers yet. What if they cannot forgive me for what I did?"

"Jon will come round. It's just been a shock finding out that I am not really his father."

"You are in all but name," she said, angrily. "Rhaegar rode off before even knowing I was pregnant. It was you who helped us. Made sure Jon was fed and cared for when I couldn't. Came with me beyond the Wall."

"He is my king," Arthur said simply.

It was not what Lyanna wanted to hear. Oh, she knew Arthur would never break his vows, not even on the coldest night when she had heard his teeth chattering, and had wished he would creep under her furs and warm them both. But she had believed that he had come to care for her, and, even if it could not be the way she wanted, that the affection still remained.

She pulled her hands away and looked down at him, a hard glint in her eye. "And that is all it is? After all these years, you're still just doing your duty as a Kingsguard?"

"Lyanna," he said with a sigh.

"I'm not asking for anything, Arthur. I know you would never sully your honour, but look me in the eyes and tell me you have remained solely because you believe Jon is your king."

She could read the conflict on his face as he studied the floor before he straightened his shoulders, and looked at her directly. "I cannot lie," he said. "I have feelings for you and have done for many a year. But I swore vows to serve the king, own no property, and neither marry nor father sons."

She smiled softly and raised her hand to cup his jawline. "I know, and I would never ask you to break them." She laughed lightly. "It's a never ending source of amusement that the Kingsguard hold all the honour that royalty lacks. If Rhaegar had half your honour, he wouldn't have done what he did."

"You judge him harshly."

"Fair or harsh, it makes no difference. I have come to terms with what my actions caused. I just hope my brothers can."

"They will forgive you, I am sure."

"Would you have forgiven Lady Ashara?"

Arthur smiled. "Ashara never asked for forgiveness. She took what she wanted and be damned the consequences."

The light dimmed in his violet eyes as he thought about his sister, and she reached out to him, burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry that you were with me, and not there to help her when she needed you."

He said nothing, but his hand stroked her long hair, the most intimate touch he would ever allow himself. Lyanna closed her eyes, grateful for what affection he could give her as they sought some small measure of comfort from the pain of the past.


	4. Tyrion

**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is so short. I hadn't actually factored in writing a Tyrion PoV, but it seemed right to have a Southron viewpoint in here somewhere. It also means I can visit the southern plotline if I need to at a later date. Although, having said that, Tyrion was an absolute nightmare to write!**

**The last section of this chapter owes a heavy debt to the corresponding Tyrion chapter in AGOT. **

**My many thanks once more to DKNC for beta'ing this chapter.**

* * *

**Tyrion**

Tyrion forgot his aching limbs and the pain that shot down his spine as he reined in his horse and stared in awe at the eight hundred feet of ice that towered in the distance. Despite reading all about it, he had never expected it to be quite so spectacular. In fact, he had half expected Jaime to be right when he had laughed at Tyrion's plans and asked what was so fascinating about a chunk of ice manned by a bunch of rapists, thieves and uncouth Northmen.

But Tyrion suspected that even Jaime would be stunned into silence by the sight.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Benjen Stark commented as he reined his horse next to Tyrion's.

"Somehow bigger than I imagined. I'm looking forward to taking a piss off the top."

Benjen looked at him in amusement before Eddard Stark rode past, and his brother dropped his reins to catch up.

The way the two Starks kept riding ahead of the train, talking intently about something had not escaped Tyrion's notice. He had an inkling that it was to do with the reason Lord Stark had refused to oblige his boyhood friend despite the King throwing a massive tantrum that had made Joffrey's efforts seem tame.

Robert's rage had been impressive, but Ned Stark had weathered it stoically. He had seemed to Tyrion like a grey rock battered in a storm, impassive and unmoving despite the strength of the waves that had pounded against it. The rest of the royal household had watched in fascination, uncomprehending of just why Eddard Stark would turn such an opportunity down.

There had been no sadness in Lannister circles as Stark's refusal would surely mean Cersei would get her wish, and Lord Tywin Lannister would be named Hand of the King once more. The Lannister hold at court would become complete, especially since Stannis Baratheon had taken himself back to Dragonstone in a sulk at his brother overlooking him once more in favour of his childhood friend.

In light of Robert's anger, it had seemed like a good idea to take the opportunity of being in the North to go and see the Wall. Especially as it meant he would not have to ride back down to King's Landing with a furious Robert, who had not taken his friend's refusal to become his Hand well.

But Tyrion had not really given much thought to the fact that he would be spending time with Lord Stark. Jaime had always said the northern lord was too sanctimonious for his own good, and Tyrion had to agree with his older brother. Lord Stark had not refused his attendance, but he hadn't been exactly welcoming, the frozen expression on his face full of disapproval.

His younger brother, Benjen, was not much better. Slightly friendlier, but that was not saying much, considering he had not hidden his disdain at the idea of Tyrion riding to the Wall.

Tyrion had become even more uncomfortable with his decision to ride up to the Wall once little Bran Stark had fallen from one of the Winterfell towers, and their departure to the Wall had been delayed to see if the boy would awaken. It had not been so bad whilst the Royal party was still there. The hustle and bustle of the castle had gone on as usual. But once the King and his family had ridden south, Tyrion had never felt such an outsider as he had amongst the grieving household. The sad, quiet air of the castle and it's household had made him feel as if he was intruding.

When they left, the boy had still not awoken, but Benjen Stark had not been able to delay his return to the Wall any longer, and Lord Stark was adamant about accompanying him. Lady Stark's absence had been conspicuous in the household party that had seen them off. Tyrion had not seen her since Bran had been hurt.

An icy wind swept over the wasteland they were riding across, causing Tyrion to pull his musty and stinking bear fur closer around his shoulders. He wished he had listened when Jaime had laughed and told him the only thing waiting for him at the Wall was a pair of frozen balls. He may have packed all of his warmest clothes, but they did nothing to keep the cold out this far north.

He knew Benjen Stark had been mocking him when he had offered Tyrion an old fur, thinking that he would be too proud to accept, but that was one thing a Lannister did not do, turn a gift down, especially one that would save him from freezing.

"Milord?" one of the Lannister guards his brother had assigned to him asked. "We better get moving."

Tyrion took his eyes off the gleaming Wall to notice that only his guards had remained stationary. The rest of the group had kept moving and a sizeable gap between them and Tyrion was growing. His kicked his horse's flank and galloped off.

* * *

The laughter that spread across the room made Tyrion grin. The look Ser Alliser Thorne gave him did not have much effect other to elicit than a mocking salute in return, his crab fork brandished in his hand.

"He won't forget that," Lord Commander Mormont said after Thorne stormed his way out of the tower room, but the smile remained on the old man's face.

"No matter," Tyrion replied, unconcerned. "I will be back on my way to King's Landing in a few days' time."

"The Kingsroad is perilous this far north."

Eddard Stark turned his grey eyes onto Tyrion and said, "Some of my men are riding back to Winterfell. If you delay your departure for one more day, Lannister, they can escort you that far."

"I would be grateful. Jyck, Merrec and my Lannister name should suffice after that."

The Lord Commander nodded his agreement but Stark looked away, disapproval writ once more on his face. _At my flippant attitude or the use of my house name?_ Tyrion wondered.

Later that evening, when everyone else had left, Mormont offered Tyrion a chair by the fire.

"You will speak to the King about the state of the Night's Watch, won't you?" the Lord Commander asked, sipping at a cup of mulled spirits so strong that it had brought tears to Tyrion's eyes.

"I will."

_Not that it will do any good_, Tyrion thought. The King was unlikely to listen or care very much about the Night's Watch. He certainly was unlikely to be in the mood to be generous to any northern institutions now that Ned Stark had let him down.

"Strange things are happening beyond the Wall, and the Night's Watch is the weakest it has ever been."

Tyrion might have been drunk, but he wasn't so drunk that he didn't realise the Lord Commander was after something. He shrugged non-committedly. "If there is anything I can do, I'd be happy to repay your hospitality.

"There is," the Lord Commander said bluntly. "Your sister sits next to the King. The Night's Watch has less than a thousand men. Six hundred in all. We can barely man the wall and only house men in three castles, here at Castle Black, two hundred at the Shadow Tower and even less at Eastwatch-by-Sea. That is not enough to defend the wall."

"3.3 per mile," Tyrion said with a yawn.

Mormont didn't seem to hear him. "I will now need to send men out to see what happened to Ser Wayman Royce. He was a green boy and it was his first ranging, but he insisted it was his right as a knight to lead a party out. I sent two of the Watch's best men out with him to compensate. None of the men returned and Lord Stark sent me Gared's head from Winterfell. He'd been on the Wall almost as long as me, and was not a man to desert."

"Well, you have Lord Stark here now. Surely, he can help you."

"Well, yes," Mormont said. "But it would be good if someone close to the King could tell him the problems we have here. Less and less knights and noble borns come to the take the Black any more. I'm left with dungeon dregs and bastards."

Tyrion remembered Jaime's scorn towards the Night's Watch, an opinion that was common in the south, and thought Mormont was fighting a losing battle trying to regain the Watch's prestige.

"And then word reaches me that the Wildlings are on the move. Villages are deserted and there are reports of white walkers on the beaches near Eastwatch."

_Grumpkins and snarks_, Tyrion thought with a laugh. "And the fisherfolk in Lannisport tell me they see Merlings."

The Lord Commander shot him a glare. "This is no laughing matter, Lord Tyrion. Something stirs out in the lands beyond the Wall. Something that is coming this way."

Mormont must have been more affected by the mulled spirits than he let on to tell stories of Others but Tyrion decided to humour him. He had come to respect the Old Bear over the past few weeks.

"I will do my best to aide your cause, Lord Mormont."

The Lord Commander nodded, an anxious look in his eyes. "I am nearly 70 years old and I worry that I will leave the Night's Watch in a terrible condition."

"I am sure your recruiter, Yoren, will return with more men."

"Aye, rapists and thieves," Mormont said with a sigh.


End file.
